Sword and Shield
by Rookblonkorules
Summary: "Family isn't always blood. It's the people in your life who want you in theirs. The ones who accept you for who you are. The ones who would do anything to see you smile and who love you no matter what." A series of unrelated Batfamily one-shots.
1. Got the Sniffles

**Note:** This is a new one-shot collection I'm starting. Chapters will range in length from a few hundred words (like this one) to a few thousand. It depends on the subject. Some of them will be related. Some of them will not be.

This is going to be a very family-centric, hurt/comfort collection. This is also sort of my Batfamily version of Bad Things Happen Bingo. I'm not doing it properly since I'm sort of picking and choosing prompts, however.

If you're familiar with the Bad Things Happen Bingo, feel free to give me a prompt, along with a character. If I'm not comfortable with a prompt, I will let you know.

I don't own the quote in the description.

Dick is around twelve in this chapter.

"_I will be your sword and shield, your camouflage, and you will be mine."_ -Meet Me on the Battlefield, SVRCINA

* * *

Dick was miserable.

That felt like too much of an understatement.

One sneeze, a temperature that was running just a little too high.

That was all it took for Bruce to bench him from patrol until further notice.

But Bruce was still going. It made sense. Crime wasn't going to take a rest in Gotham because one half of the Dynamic Duo needed a sick day.

It still stung to be the one left behind.

It wasn't as if Alfred could stay with him. Batman's backup. And, being sick, Dick was, of course, not allowed in the cave.

It was selfish to wish Alfred could spend some time with him right now, but Dick couldn't help it. He was sick. He was lonely. He was tired.

He was sitting on the couch, a mug of tea- some herbal remedy concoction Alfred had brewed- clutched in his hand. He hadn't taken more than a sip, but it warmed his fingers, so he clung to it.

And if he felt it was like holding a tiny piece of Alfred's comfort, so what? He brought it close to his nose, breathing deeply. The steam wafted up into his face.

Slowly, he pressed the rim to his lips and sipped. The taste was bitter and he scrunched his nose up- Alfred hadn't added any milk or sugar- but he took another sip anyways.

"How you feeling, chum?"

In his surprise, Dick jumped… realizing belatedly that he still had the cup of tea in his hands. He fumbled with it, miraculously managing to avoid spills.

Despite himself, he grinned victoriously. Acrobatics won out in the end. They always did.

"Steady there." Two strong hands landed on his shoulder.

Dick tilted his head back, eyes widening in surprise. "Bruce?"

He couldn't help it. He grinned, thrilled.

But then… he frowned. Bruce's presence when he was supposed to be somewhere else aside, there was a distinctive lack of a batsuit. Bruce was wearing simple jeans and a semi-nice shirt. It was about as informal as he ever got.

"Wait, aren't…?"

Bruce moved around the couch, keeping his hand on Dick's shoulder the whole time, until he was sitting next to the boy. The couch cushion dipped under Bruce's weight and the man raised his arm slightly.

As soon as the invitation was extended, Dick scrambled closer to his guardian, tucking himself into the little crook against Bruce's side.

Bruce's arm settled comfortably over the boy's shoulders.

"You're asking why I'm not… out, right now?" Bruce asked. The corner of his lip twitched into an almost-smile.

Dick nodded mutely.

"Alfred remind me," Bruce said, "that Gotham isn't the only one who needs me."

Dick gave him a look that was equal parts hopeful and uncertain.

Bruce confirmed it. "That means you, kiddo."

He settled back on the couch, grabbing the remote.

"So," he asked, casually, "what are we watching?"

"Actually," Dick snuggled up against his arm, "I was hoping you could maybe just," he turned pleading eyes up at Bruce, "sit with me?"

Bruce set the remote down on the arm of the couch.

"Yes," he said, smiling fondly at the dark head resting against his shoulder. With his hand, he gently ruffled the dark locks, "I can do that."


	2. Fearful

**A/N: **Ugh, it feels like it's been ages since I've gotten to this. Apologies for that!

Prompt: accidentally hurt by a friend.

Plus, a healthy smattering of Dibs. Sort of.

* * *

It had all happened too quickly.

He heard the hiss of gas, followed by her gasp.

It was the only warning he had.

He spun around, her name on the tip of his tongue.

"Batgirl!"  
She was on her knees, hands over her face.

Scarecrow was running. Distantly, that registered in Nightwing's mind that he was getting away, but he let him go.

Let him run.

Batgirl was more important to him right now.

She wasn't making a sound.

There was nothing to suggest what she was currently experiencing.

He placed a hand on her shoulder, seeking to shake her out of the nightmare before it had a chance to begin.

"Bat…"

"No!"

Her forearm slammed up and into his chin, driving his head back.

"Nnng." His teeth clacked together- he avoided biting his tongue, but the force of it still jarred his jaw.

Automatically, he let her go, flipping back so that he was out of range of her strikes. His hand went up to rub his jaw.

It wasn't broken, but it was sure as hell going to have a bruise in the morning.

She didn't have Batman's sheer power, but Batgirl was strong. Taking into account the fear-induced state she was currently in, Nightwing couldn't underestimate her.

He would have to size her up, the way he would any other foe. Take her out.

Do it without hurting her if he can. Without her hurting him if he can manage that as well.

But she was his priority.

Batgirl had stumbled to her feet. Her eyes were looking right at him, but they weren't seeing _him._

Nightwing held up his hands, hoping that maybe by showing that he didn't intend to hurt her, he could defuse the situation before it escalated.

"Babs," he said. He risked using her real name, keeping his voice gentle.

Her lips twisted into a snarl. "No," she said. "No, you don't get to use my name like that." Her voice broke on the first syllable, her lip trembling almost unnoticeably, but Nightwing knew her well. But it got stronger as she kept talking. Her fists clenched "Not after what you did."

Cripes. Nightwing swallowed. He saw it coming a mile away. Really, he did. But he still wanted to avoid it.

"Babs, I'm not…"

"Stop using my name!" Batgirl lunged for him.

Nightwing sidestepped, catching her arm. He used her own momentum against her, redirecting her.

He twisted around so that he was behind her, one hand still gripping her wrist. He wrapped his free arm around her shoulders, pinning her against his body.

She threw herself forward, straining against his hold.

He held on for all he was worth.

"Babs!" he ground out between clenched teeth. "Stop it! You're not acting like yourself."

Batgirl didn't seem to hear him, crying out in rage. She slammed her head back, connecting squarely with the soft cartilage of Nightwing's nose with a sickening crunch. At the same time, she brought her boot down on his instep.

He should have seen it coming.

He hadn't.

Nightwing staggered back, barely stifling a pained grunt. His gloved hands flew up, clutching at his face.

Before he had time to recover, her fist found his stomach, driving the air from his lungs.

"_Oof!"_ Nightwing doubled over, struggling hard to regain his breath.

She spun, aiming a kick for his head.

Nightwing ducked under, spinning around so that he was behind her once again.

"Batgirl, _stop!"_

He was losing his patience for this. And fast.

She was going to hurt someone. Whether that someone was going to be him or herself remained to be seen.

Whatever Batgirl was seeing, he had to find a way to break through the vision, to bring her back to reality.

Snarling, she lunged for him again.

Without skipping a beat, Nightwing twisted his body, using his powerful leg muscles to propel himself into the air, flipping over her head.

He landed in a crouch on her other side.

Before she could adjust her position to meet his, he leapt to his feet and was charging towards her.

She spun to meet him just as he collided with her.

Nightwing didn't give himself time to think about it. He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her own to her side, and held on.

"No!"

She kicked against his hold, but he grit his teeth and held on.

"Batgirl," he said, fully aware of the way his voice broke, "you're not yourself. You have to snap out of it. _Please."_

He could feel the muscles in her arms straining against his to break free. He locked his fingers together to get a more secure grip, holding her tightly against his chest, praying he wasn't hurting her.

"You need to get it together, Batgirl. Whatever you're seeing, it's not real!"

Loose strands of her red hair brushed against his chin and cheek. He could smell the shampoo she'd used this morning.

"Let me go!" She was crying now. It broke a little piece of Dick's heart to hear her. Whatever she was seeing… it had to be bad. "Let me go! _Let me go!"_

And then she slammed her head back, smashing into his nose once again.

Nightwing cried out, his head snapping back.

This time, he was certain something had broken.

This time though, he held on.

In his peripheral vision, he caught sight of a dark shape dropping down off to his left.

_Batman._

Nightwing's legs felt almost rubbery with relief, but he held himself upright.

Batman was at his side immediately.

He didn't ask what happened. The effects of Crane's fear gas were well known among all of them.

Behind the lenses, Batgirl's eyes landed on him and she recoiled against Dick in fear. "No," she whimpered. Her struggles had lessened. She seemed to have realized that she wasn't going to get away.

Batman's frown deepened, the only indicator of his emotional state. He reached for her and she pulled away, but there was nowhere for her to go. He grasped her neck firmly, practiced fingers seeking out the pressure point in her neck.

It was the logical course of action- as well as the safest for Barbara. Without knowing what blend of chemicals were present in the concoction Crane had unleashed, they couldn't risk adding anything else to her system.

Her breath hitched, panic, terror even, written in her body language, on what could be seen of her features, before she went limp in Nightwing's arms.

The sudden dead weight had him stumbling backwards.

Batman caught her, sharing Nightwing's burden. Together, they sank to their knees, slowly lowering her to the ground.

The look he gave the younger man was knowing- the fight, Nightwing was only just realizing, had taken more out of him than he had thought.

The offer itself was unspoken, but Nightwing understood it nonetheless. He shook his head, cradling her against his chest.

"No," he said, his eyes pleading with the older man. "Let me. I can carry her."

He gathered her up in his arms.

Her head lolled listlessly against his shoulder and his heart did a little flop in his chest. She was anything but, but… here in his arms right now, she seemed so fragile. Breakable.

Like a porcelain doll.

Almost immediately, he winced inwardly. She would hate that comparison.

Yet he still held her closer to his heart.

"Get her to the car," Batman said quietly.

* * *

Dick sat in the chair and poked gingerly at his bandaged nose.

It hurt and he winced.

_Bad plan, Dick._

"The idea is to leave it alone. So it can heal, y'know."

Dick looked up.

Jason stood, his jacket slung over his shoulder, a sardonic smile playing at his lips.

"You look terrible. How do you feel?"

Dick shrugged one shoulder and slumped back.

"Like my girlfriend kicked the crap out of me?" he offered. At least it was the truth.

"Oof. Yeah. Can't say I envy you that one." Jason winced. "Babs has a mean right hook."

Eyebrow raised, Dick lifted his chin and flashed Jason a slightly bemused look. "You would know that… how exactly?"

"Uh…" Jason rubbed the back of his neck. "Misunderstanding."

Curiosity gathered at the back of his skull, but Dick settled back and decided not to press it.

Dick had learned to recognize that there was a point when Jason stopped talking.

He'd just have to ask Babs about it later.

It might give him some good blackmail material if nothing else.

But speaking of…

"How is she? Do you know?"

A part of him resented that his brother knew how his girlfriend was doing before he knew himself.

He shoved that to the back of his mind. He had no time for a conflict with Jason- especially one that wasn't his brother's fault.

After bringing her back to the cave, Bruce had taken her, insisting that Dick get his nose looked at by Alfred before he damaged something permanently.

He had relinquished her from his care only reluctantly.

"Sleeping."

That was… good. Better than the terror fueled rage he'd last seen her in.

"I'll… go see her now."

Jason settled back, trying, and failing, to hide his grin.

"Yeah. You go do that."


	3. Protective

"Don't do this."  
At times like this, it was hard to remember that he couldn't always be Batman. That he could be helpless.

Very few things made the man that was the Batman feel helpless.

The sight of his child held with a knife against his throat was one of them.

There was a rage boiling hot within him. Rage at the sight of man holding a knife against his child's throat.

But there was also fear.

"Do what I say, Mr. Wayne, and I won't have to."

The man tilted his head, a grin inching its way across his face.

He knew he had Bruce trapped.

"Don't worry. Once the money's been delivered, we'll let you both go. No harm, no foul."

If only it could be that simple.

Jason's eyes, wide and fearful, met Bruce's and the man swore, then and there, that he wasn't going to let anything happen to that child.

Bruce clenched his hands into fists. "What do you want me to do?"

Complying was the first step in making sure Jason remained safe. He would comply. For now.

And when he saw an opening, well… the man wouldn't even know what hit him. The man would pay for touching a member of Bruce's family.

Instead of answering, the man just nodded to someone behind Bruce.

"Take him."

Before Bruce had a chance to turn around, something collided with the back of his skull.

He hadn't even seen it coming.

* * *

When he came to, the first thing he registered was the headache.

The second thing he registered were the cuffs around his wrists. They were tight, not yet tight enough to cut off his circulation, but enough to be uncomfortable.

Keeping his eyes shut, he carefully ran his fingers around the entire rim. A simple enough lock to pick. He should be able to get out of them.

If he could just… take a moment to breathe.

"Bruce?"

It took him a moment to place the voice.

"Jason?"

He tried sitting up, cracking his eyes open at the same time, only to be met with an overwhelming sense of dizziness.

He fell back down with a quiet gasp.

"Bruce!"

There was no denying the little tremor in the voice now.

It stirred Bruce to action. Attempted action.

"Jason."

His voice is gravelly. Weak.

His throat was sore, feeling as if the flesh had been stripped raw, but that wasn't his concern.

_Jason._

Was he okay? Had he been hurt?

How had they ended up here?

A small hand pressed against his shoulder.

"I'm here, Bruce."

There was a wobble in the boy's voice.

He was scared.

It lit something inside of Bruce, sending the Batman inside of him afire with rage.

His son should never sound like that. Never that shaken. Never that _scared._

Someone had made him sound like that

Someone had taken him, pressed a knife against his _throat._

A _knife._

His teeth clenched hard enough to hurt his jaw and he rolled over onto his side with a grunt.

Had they hurt him? Roughed him up in the time that Bruce had been unconscious?

He had to find out, had to make sure he was alright.

Peeling his eyes open _hurt _in a way that waking up never should.

Jason's face swam into focus before his eyes, blurry at first, but slowly gaining resolution.

"Bruce!"

The boy looked absolutely frantic.

Bruce grimaced. He wasn't supposed to scare his children like that. They could scare him… it was their privilege. And he was their father- maybe not by blood, but since when did that matter for them?

He was never supposed to put that burden on them.

"Jason…" he began, struggling past the dizziness swimming just behind his brain. He wanted more than anything to reach out, to touch his boy, to make sure that he wasn't hurt. But he couldn't. Not with his hands bound.

His one consolation in this situation is that they seem to have left Jason unbound. Not that it will do them much good. Bruce hadn't started teaching Jason how to pick locks yet.

But at least the boy is less helpless than he could have been.

"Did they hurt you?"

Jason shook his head, but, even in his state, Bruce was still capable of noticing the small second of hesitation before the nod.

"Jason…"

"They didn't! I swear!"

Bruce squinted his eyes at the boy. There were no bruises on his face that he could see, no marks that marr his pale skin, but that didn't mean there weren't any.

It would only mean they were where he couldn't see. Under his clothes maybe. But Jason didn't seem to be in any pain.

He clenched his teeth and strove to get himself upright.

Jason's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"You're the one who's hurt, Bruce. You shouldn't sit up."

"Someone has to get us out of this, Jason."

_And it won't be you. I'm not letting this burden fall on your shoulders._

"You're not going to be much help if you just pass out again because you're trying too hard!"

Bruce let his head fall back against the floor, eyes focused on the ceiling above him. There were little lights winking in and out in the back of his skull. He forced himself to ignore them.

Jason was right, he knew. If he strained himself too hard and ended up injuring himself worse, then he'd be no good to them at all.

And when their kidnappers came back, he wouldn't be able to protect Jason.

He couldn't allow that to happen.

But he was also Batman and Batman had walked through worse.

_Not right now though,_ a traitorous little voice saw fit to remind him. _Not right now, you're not. You're Bruce Wayne._

"Jason," he said, ignoring the voice for now. It would only serve as a distraction.

"Yeah?" The boy was still at his side, devoted as always. He knew there was no way he would leave him. But that wasn't what he wanted.

"There's a set of lockpicks hidden in the bottom of my left shoe."

The fact that he hadn't already told the boy was looking like a lack of foresight on his part.

"I can't get at it right now."

Normally, he would have been able to contort himself just right to reach it himself, but normally he doesn't have what feels like a concussion the size of Minnesota.

Right now, though, he was just thankful the kidnappers hadn't thought to remove his shoes.

"I need you to get it for me."

Immediately, Jason went for his shoe. He grasped it by the heel and moved to pull it off of his foot.

"No!" Bruce made to pull his foot back.

Jason stopped, startled.

"Not… not _inside _the shoe. In the bottom. Take the bottom off."

"...oh."

He could feel Jason's small fingers at work, prying the bottom off.

Finally, he got it off and the case was pressed into Bruce's fingers.

"Thank you," Bruce said. He turned the case around, sliding one of the picks into his hands.

There was one other thing he needed.

"Jason, if they come back… if you have the opportunity… I want you to run."

"What?" Jason looked at him, aghast. "I'm not going to leave you, Bruce!"

"Jason!" Bruce snapped. He didn't have the time nor the patience to argue with him over this. "That's an order!"

Jason crossed his arms. "You're not the boss right now."

Bruce clenched his teeth. Why did he have to be so damn _stubborn?_

"If something happens, I need to know that you can get yourself away from here. I don't know what they want, but I'm guessing that Bruce Wayne is more valuable to them then some…" He swallowed, unable to bring himself to finish that sentence.

He didn't need to. Jason finished it for him. "Then some street kid," Jason said, voice bland.

Bruce forced himself to breath. "Yes," he said, slowly. "They could kill you, Jason. And like this, I can't protect you."

"But you can't protect yourself either…" Jason protested.

"Jason!" Bruce clenched his hands behind his back, gripping the pick so tightly it was almost painful. "I need you to promise me."

Jason hesitated, the struggle clearly written across his face.

"I…" He dropped his gaze and whispered, "I promise."

* * *

Half an hour of work and the cuffs finally fell away with a _clink._

Bruce pulled his hands in front of him, rubbing his wrists to get some circulation back into them.

He pushed himself to a sitting position.

Jason crowded closer, his hands on Bruce's shoulder. "Are you…?"  
Bruce reached up, grasping the boy's wrist and giving it a comforting squeeze.

"I'm fine, Jason. It's nothing I haven't dealt with before."  
While it was true, it was a little different, taking a blow to the head as Bruce Wayne rather than as Batman with the comforting protective barrier of the kevlar cowl.

He climbed shakily to his feet.

Jason remained hovering by his side. While the boy's determination to help him should he lose his footing was touching, Bruce sincerely hoped he wouldn't need it.

He crossed the room, his fingers reaching out to take hold of the door knob.

The door swung open.

Bruce shoved Jason back, stepping defensively in front of the child.

He cocked his fist back-

-and swung the moment he had a target.

"_Geez!"_

The figure ducked skillfully and Bruce's fist sailed clean over his head.

"There's no need to take it out on me! I got here as soon as I could, okay?"

Completely gobsmacked, Bruce stopped his next attack. "_Nightwing?!"_

The blue and black clad hero grinned from ear to ear. "In the flesh."

He tapped his ear. "I've got them, BG. They're fine." He listened for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. No problem. All the guys are cleared on my end."  
Nightwing dropped his hand down and focused on them. His expression and voice turned serious. "Are you both okay?"

"We're fine," Bruce said.

"Bruce hit his head," Jason burst out at the same time.

"You… what?" Nightwing's eyes shot from Jason to Bruce and, even through the mask, he looked almost reproachful as he hurried to loop an arm around Bruce's shoulders. "Look, Bruce, I know it's not easy to admit when you're hurt, but you've got to let us know, okay?"

"I'm fine." Bruce waved off his concern. Exhaustion, and a pounding headache, hit him like a tidal wave. "Just… let Alfred have a look."  
Nightwing humphed, unconvinced.

Finally, he spoke again. "BG's called the cops. Since neither one of us has anything other than a cycle and, with a head injury, there's no way in _hell_ I'm taking you on one of those." At Jason's hopeful look, he said, "Sorry, kiddo, but no." To Bruce, he continued, "So you're going to have to ride with them. That means the hospital to get looked at."  
Bruce growled.

"Hey, I know you don't like it, but… could you at least cooperate with them?"

Bruce didn't answer, scowling at nothing but the ground under his feet, as if he could melt it with the sheer force of his willpower alone.

Nightwing sighed. "You guys really scared the crap out of us, you know that?" he whispered.

Bruce's frown melted only a little. "Sorry."

They were outside now, giving Bruce a first look at their surroundings.

One of Gotham's older neighborhoods. Practically overrun by drugs and crime. Paint peeling on the homes. Grass that was uncut and yellowed by the sun. It was likely that the majority of the residents here at this time were indoors and drugged out of their minds.

The kidnappers really hadn't had anything to fear.

Bruce pushed himself away from Nightwing to sit down on the sidewalk. Wearily, Jason sat down next to him and Bruce wrapped an arm around the boy.

Too tired to resist now that the ordeal was over, Jason leaned into his hold, resting his head against the man's chest.

"Are you really unhurt?" he asked. He couldn't shake the image of Jason with a knife to his throat out of his head.

It terrified him, to be that out of control of his children's fate. Terror was not an emotion that he dealt with easily. He wasn't used to feeling out of control, to being helpless, and it angered him.

Jason nodded. "They threatened me, but they… they didn't do anything to me. I'm okay, Bruce."  
Bruce grunted, holding onto him a little tighter.

Nightwing shifted and, even behind the mask, he could see the younger man's eyes blazing. He was probably wishing he'd been a little harder on the men he'd taken down.

"You should have left some of them for me," he told Nightwing.

Nightwing shrugged, a tight smile in place. He wasn't in the least apologetic.

"Next time," he said. "But I think maybe this time, it was my turn. Nobody messes with my family."

* * *

**Note: **I would imagine that Bruce keeps lockpicks or something on his person somewhere. After all, he's Batman and Batman is always prepared (usually) and I'd think he'd want to be prepared in case anyone did ever get it into their heads to kidnap Bruce Wayne.

So yeah, this was actually supposed to be Bruce protecting Jason because Bruce being a good dad and taking care of his kids is totally my jam, but I think it redirected itself more towards Jason being a little protective of Bruce.

Oh well. It happens.


	4. Strength Part 1

**Note:** Takes place during the _War Games _arc.

**Warning:** Implied torture. Hurt with no comfort. (That's for part two.)

* * *

He's gone for now.

Left her with this feeble reprieve so he can go and carry out the next part of his plan.

Which is only possible because she broke.

She _told _him.

Shame is the only thing that hurts worse than the marks of torture Black Mask left behind in his wake.

That and the terror at what he's now doing. With the information _she _gave him.

A sob breaks past her lips and she sags further against the chains. The iron drags on her wrists, and she clenches her teeth against another whimper.

This whole evening-_nightmare-_ she's been nothing but weak. It's time for her to be _strong._

_Robin_ is about being strong.

Stephanie wraps her hands around the chains, hoisting herself up. Her muscles scream at her in agony and it takes all her effort not to scream along with them.

As it is, she bites her lip hard enough that she feels a new trickle of blood sliding down her chin.

Her trembling fingers feel around the edge of the cuffs before finally finding the lock.

She's hopeful at first, nearly shaking with anxiety, before it turns out to be hopeless.

Batman has taught her the basics of lock-picking- one of the few things he actually _did _teach her- but, with her muscles not cooperating the way they should be and without an actual lock_pick,_ there isn't much she can do to help herself.

Another sob bursts out before she can help it. Her muscles are already shaking from what little exertion she's had to put forth.

She may as well accept it. She's going to die here.

Maybe it will be easier if she doesn't fight it.

She's already so, so tired anyways.

Maybe she can finally sleep.

* * *

**Note: **I adore Stephanie. Always have. And now that I'm a college student myself, I cherish my copy of her Batgirl run (in which she juggles her student life and Batgirl career) like nothing else.

Stephanie is a ray of sunshine and what happened to her in _War Games _at the hands of Black Mask will always haunt me.


	5. Strength Part 2

**Notes:** Yikes. It has certainly been a while.

No warnings, other than some very minor description of injuries and canon divergence.

* * *

Had he been anyone else, Damian Wayne might have said he was hesitant.

But he isn't anyone else.

And Damian Wayne is not hesitant.

Ever.

Yet that doesn't explain why he stands here now, unmoving.

The door is before him.

Yes, it is shut, but that hardly counts as an obstacle.

He can open it at any point.

And yet he simply doesn't.

Damian has already caught the gist of what's happened. He knows Brown disappeared. He knows she had something to do with this… this war that has Gotham in a stalemate. He knows they found her.

He's not sure why he's found himself here- before the door behind which he knows are three people- his father, Leslie Thomkins and… and Brown.

They found her.

As to what condition she was in...

That… that is something he does not know.

Slowly, with rising trepidation that he refuses to acknowledge, Damian raises his hand, prepared finally to enter.

The door swings up and Damian jumps back.

His father is the one who stalks out. The lines on his face have become more prominent and Damian is aware that it's been at least three nights since his father got any amount of sleep. His expression is hard, but his eyes are where the true anguish lies.

Bruce's gaze sweeps over him and Damian finds himself truly unsettled by what he sees.

His father looks far older than his years. The lines drawn in his face stand out as though they'd been chiseled in stone.

"Damian…" It's said more to break the silence, he thinks, than for anything else.

"Father," Damian answers, for the same reason.

The moment of silence between them grows, before Bruce growls something low and unintelligible and turns away, running a hand through his hair.

Damian watches his receding back and thinks he can guess what his father is feeling right now.

He's blaming himself for what happened to Brown. The same way he blames himself for everything else that happens in Gotham.

It's an idiotic sentiment- this idea of his Father's that he and he alone can somehow prevent every bad thing from happening.

There's nothing to excuse his hesitation now.

If he had made conversation with Father… Only there's nothing to converse about and he doesn't have the time or the inclination to make small talk.

He pushes the door open and steps in.

Brown is motionless in the bed across from him. Both the sheets covering her and his distance across the room from her make it hard for him to see the extent of her injuries.

She's still enough to be dead.

The heart monitor tells him that she's still alive. It also tells him that she was hurt badly enough to need one.

He takes slow steps across the room. There's a chair at the bedside, likely where his father was sitting before Damian ran into him outside the door.

He settles into it carefully.

Her face is the only part of her that's visible, blonde hair surrounding her head like a cloud, and she looks… terrible.

Damian's lips tilt downward in a frown.

Both her eyes are blackened. Bandages swath her forehead. Her left cheek is swollen and Damian suspects that the butterfly bandages hide a nasty gash.

Damian has seen torture before.

Mother had never expected him to perform it- she considered that beneath him. He had witnessed it only rarely.

But he had seen the aftermath quite frequently, always with a sort of detachment.

He reaches for that detachment now and finds it frustratingly out of reach.

He's feeling things- things he's not quite sure how to deal with- and they all have to do with Brown.

He extends his hand out, brushing his finger against one of hers, before snatching it back.

"You better wake up, Brown," he says harshly. His nails dig into the palms of his hands.

As annoying as she can be- as irritatingly _bubbly_ as she can be- she's always seemed to shake everything off.

It's an observation he will never tell her about.

"If you don't wake up from this…" There isn't a threat he can come up with for the situation. Unusual for him.

He settles for repeating, "You better wake up."

In those sappy movies Grayson sometimes has him watching, this would be the time the person in the bed opened their eyes. They'd blink and then they'd whisper the name of whoever was camped out in a bedside vigil and it would be happily ever after.

She doesn't wake up.

Damian doesn't leave.

* * *

**Note:** So I know that technically the Damian and Steph bonding stuff comes _after _this story, but... please allow me this break from canon. I love their relationship a lot.


End file.
